The Spy and the Painting
by J. Merrick
Summary: The enemy was supposed to be incompetent. The mission was supposed to be easy. Instead an evil was released into the world that was beyond comprehension. Yes, it's a Harry Potter/Avengers crossover.
1. Chapter One

_**The Spy and the Painting**_  
_by J. Merrick_

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the Avengers.  
Timeline: After Deathly Hallows for Harry Potter…although "stuff" happened before the epilogue. After The Avengers movie for them. You'll see.

_Summary: The enemy was supposed to be incompetent. The mission was supposed to be easy. Instead an evil was released into the world that was beyond comprehension. _

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Careful men, this is priceless!" came the shout from the foreman. His supervisor had let him know this morning that if the painting had been dinged, damaged, dented, or deformed then he could consider his life dinged, damaged, dented and deformed. He had nodded his understanding, remembering back to when he was a laborer and had seen the man tear the throat off of a black bear with his left hand.

His men, meanwhile, were working as quickly as their care could possibly allow. Their hushed whispers gave way to mutinous thoughts that they should ding the frame some, they were tired of the shouted commands of the foreman. They were tired of showing up to the canteen and receiving an apple and a handful of burned mutton for their days rations.

Most of all, they were tired of one of their number mysteriously dying everyday. Their mutinous thoughts gave way to idealizations of flight – if they left they might die by the hand of another man, but they wouldn't die with their vocal chords snapping from their screams. Twenty two days they had been digging in this hole, and twenty two of their number had been consumed by that golden, torturous, and welcome light each day.

That of course said nothing of the usual deaths due to rock slides, misplaced swings of pick axes that embedded into craniums, and death rattles from exertion.

The foreman surveyed the pit from his position overlooking it. In every man's eyes he saw a desire. It was the glowered eyes, the hushed whispers, the veins throbbing on their hands as he walked by. He had stopped eating his mutton, they had stopped attempting to mask the smell of the poison. He saw the itch under their skin to swing their tool that was in their right hand and embed it in his frontal lobes.

He prayed that they made contact with their dig soon – he had decided ten days ago that he would kill himself in 12 days if they hadn't. It was better to die by his own hand than to die like Cesar, stabbed in the front, back, and side. Or to live his final moments with the feeling of his trachea detached from the rest of his body.

He look up at the tunnel that led to their current location, the string of lights extending beyond their own illumination into darkness that stretched for miles. It was that darkness that bore down onto the men, that gave them that itch under their skin, that took decent men with normal thoughts and turned them into automatons that dreamed of murdering their master.

There was a clink.

Then a second.

Then the light shined. The golden light. The killing light.

All sound left the tunnel, the chamber, the hole. The men with their eyes wide, frantically looking for the man that was about to be consumed next.

It didn't come.

The light continued to grow brighter and brighter, burning the retinas of all who didn't shield their eyes soon enough. The men starting to panic, looking for the one that was about to face his rendition in the most painful way they had heard.

Then it happened. A quiet sound, a snap, and then the light was gone.

The foreman leaned over his post and into the bottom of the hole. A faint golden hum of light was radiating at the bottom. He had the men clear out, which they were more than happy to after the many days they had spent idling with their mutinous thoughts. He signaled to his assistants, they were to go down and investigate the hum.

What they found turned their minds for the rest of their soon to be short lives.

X X X

Natasha Romanoff was not having a great day. Contrary to her outward appearance her shoulder was still sore from her last mission, she hadn't been able to get a lot of sleep, and she absolutely despised coming in on her day off.

If pressed by the right person (of whom only Steve qualified at this point in time), she would admit that she possibly had an issue with the fact that Clint still hadn't apologized for accidentally shooting her with one of his arrows on that mission. It didn't matter that it was her fault (no, not even Tony at his most charming or Bruce at his most bumbling could get that out of her), Clint deserved to be pleading for mercy every time she felt a slight twinge radiating down her arm.

Of course, she also would admit to absolutely no one that Clint shooting her had also been the cause of her lack of sleep as well. The last time that had happened…she had a lot more red on her ledger. It was all red at that time in fact. Gushing, as Loki had put it. It had been years since she had put some serious thought behind that red, more than the lip service she gave for why she was a member of the Avenger Initiative, but lately she was drowning in it.

Then of course, she was decidedly female. She had female things to do on her day off that she couldn't do when surrounded by nothing but testosterone and it's wannabe brother "manliness" that was always present when she was called into SHIELD. Of course in this she could at least commiserate with Agent Hill, who with a shared look let her know they both were annoyed for this reason.

She sat down at the table in the conference room that Director Fury's latest assistant had directed the trio to, making sure that Agent Hill was between her and Clint. She would be back to friendly terms with the Hawkeye when her shoulder stopped twinging, but until then she knew the man didn't deserve to have his arm twisted out of it's socket. Which she would do if he got too close.

"Ladies," came Fury's voice, causing a slight chuckle form Clint, "I'm sorry to call you all in on your day off but we have a minor situation that has developed over the past twenty four hours."

He ran his hand over the table and swiped it at the wall. As much as Tony Stark annoyed them on a daily basis, SHIELD would not be as advanced as it was without his help.

"We have been doing some low level monitoring of the Black Forest in Germany when we picked up a massive operation being carried on by the Mow Dock Consortium," Fury continued, "Normally we wouldn't even both calling you three in on your so precious day off but the idiots stumbled onto a weapon. A weapon they have no idea of how powerful it is."

He swiped his hand and more images appeared on the wall, this time of men carrying a package out of a tunnel.

"The brain surgeons at the MDC believe all they have uncovered is a priceless work of art, but in reality they have uncovered what is believed to be the keys that could possibly summon a being on level with Loki at his worst into the universe."

He paused, and let his eye roam over his three agents.

"I need you three to get this artifact out of MDC hands and into ours," he paused, a beat slipping by, "and I don't care how you do it. Just know that you can not touch this artifact with your bare hands for any reason. The information we have received on it is that it is not only highly volitile, but that twenty two men died in absolute agony just trying to reach it."

"So we're talking Earth Shattering Kaboom then?" Clint cut in, earning a glare from Fury. Natasha merely rolled her eyes, to busy looking at the pictures on the screen which showed a massive and flat object being moved out of the tunnels. It appeared to be encased in some sort of box, but beyond that she couldn't make anything out. Knowing Mow Dock as she did, she assumed that while it wouldn't be difficult in extracting the artifact, it was to be tiring.

She pulled her eyes away when she heard Fury addressing them again.

"We all know how inept the MDC is, which is why I need you three to be extra careful. No more slip ups, I don't need another agent taking an arrow into their shoulder because they got complacent."

Natasha felt her shoulder twinge, and gave a minor glare to Clint who at least had the sense to look slightly ashamed.

"Hill, you're going to be running the operation," Fury continued, handing over the tablet he had been holding, "Hawkeye, you're going to be providing cover. Agent Romanoff you will be infiltrating the MDC and retrieving the artifact."

He pulled a device out from underneath his desk, that looked like a box with a giant button on it.

"When you have located the artifact, put this on it and press the button. Mr. Stark has assured me that it will expand to consume the artifact and then fly it back to a drop off point at a speed faster than most nations air forces."

She picked up the device, allowing herself to silently marvel at Stark's (and she guessed Banner's as well) genius. She made a mental note to slip it into her mission bag.

"Now, it goes without saying that I have been pushing you three pretty hard lately. Please don't slip up this time, I've gotten quite used to relying on you."

With one final look at the three, Fury walked out of the room as the trio stood up. Natasha nodded at Hill, glared at Clint, and walked out. She heard Clint calling after her as she left. Closing her eyes momentarily, counting to десять, she looked over her shoulder (her bad one!) at the Hawkeye to show that she was listening and continued on to the locker room.

"Natasha, wait up!" she slowed, slightly, not changing her expression. While she mentally knew she shouldn't stay mad at him, she did enjoy seeing him sweat.

"Listen, I need to make sure we're okay," he continued as he caught up, "You've been slightly off since you stepped into my shot."

Natasha stopped herself cold. In the back of her head she admired the look that flashed across Clint's face, it was one of instant regret.

"I _apologize_ for stepping into your shot Clint," Natasha ground out, her long repressed accent inflecting on her words. No, she wasn't angry about something at all. She continued, "I'll do my best in the future to let you know where I'm going to be _at all times_ so as not to screw up your _precious little shot_."

She strode away, leaving a shaken Clint Barton in her place. Her shoulder was throbbing, it was her day off, and she was more mad at herself than anything.

This was going to be a long mission.

X X X

If Agent Hill had noticed the frosty relationship between the two normally best friends, she didn't comment on it. As it was, as soon as they had suited up they had gone into complete business mode. Agent Hill had, if possible, gotten more serious. Clint had lost all traces of humor. Natasha had lost all emotion and inflection from both her features and her voice.

The flight to their insertion had been brief, with the surveillance consistently ran on the MDC it was known that their perimeter was something that could be easily breached. The pair, Black Widow and Hawkeye, moved in silence as they knew that Agent Hill observed them from above. Natasha had studied the lay out of the location on the flight over, it had seemed simple enough. They would go in from the side, with Clint staying on the hill watching her every move. The artifact was being held in an open air hanger, and as soon as she made the single he would start taking however many MDC personnel were present.

It was supposed to be simple, which was why it of course had all gone to hell.

It had started predictably, she had walked in right past every guard. Then Hawkeye had misread her cue and started taking out guards too early. This caused her to be out of position, and thus get into a larger hand to hand fight than she had been planning on.

Adding more red to her ledger – most would say it was indeed black, but the MDC guards were inept enough that it was like murdering the painful innocent – she was able to get closer to the artifact. She was fighting off three guards that had so far been yet to be put down by Hawkeye when she was hit hard in her shoulder by a club.

Twisting out of the way to regain her senses as the pain went shooting through her entire body, she tripped over the body of one of the guards that had just taken a Hawkeye arrow. She put her arm out to stop her fall and noticed one second too late that her palm – her incredibly fleshly, definitely not covered by a glove palm – was laying flat against the artifact, which for the first time she noticed was a painting of a boy that looked to be about her age. She didn't have much longer to contemplate the painting though, because a bright golden light immediately exploded outwards from it and knocked her on her back.

She quickly closed her eyes as the light became blinding and realized with a small amount of fascination that it light was actually causing a hum. As suddenly as the light came, though, it retracted. She opened her eyes, and sat up with a small groan, still favoring her arm. All of her training was required not to react to what she saw.

Standing before her was the man that had been in the painting.

He was dressed like Loki had been, but his robes were not quite as flowing. They, in fact, looked almost _functional_. He had long hair, and at least a few weeks worth of growth on his face. Then there were his eyes, they were intoxicating. Their green surveyed all that was around him as almost if in a frenzy, the kind a caged animal gets after being let out after to long a time spent in their cage. They came to rest on Natasha as she noticed that he looked like he looked like he had recently been a part of a battle.

"Right, you were the one that let me out?" he asked, a clipped British accent to his words. Natasha nodded silently, the pain in her shoulder preventing her from opening her mouth.

"Great, you seem like you don't want to kill me while the people around here want to do you in," the man said as he silently walked over to her, and saw watched as he waved his hand causing all the guards _to go flying away_. He bent over, and put his hand on her shoulder. Instantly, all the pain that she had been carrying around in it went away.

"I'm Harry," he said, still holding her shoulder, "And this might feel a bit weird."

She was about to ask what it was, when she felt herself disappear with a pop.

**End Chapter One**

* * *

**Author's note:** An alternative summary could be "It really was all Hawkeye's fault, Natasha would protest after she let an oncoming storm out of it's cage."


	2. Chapter Two

_**The Spy and the Painting  
**__by J. Merrick_

* * *

**Chapter Two**

One second Natasha felt like she was being squeezed through a really small tube, and the next she was sprawled out on the ground feeling like her entire body had been hastily torn apart and reassembled. Master of her craft that she was there was only one response to this feeling.

Which was to violently expel everything in her digestive system up to and including all the bile in her stomach, naturally.

She looked up to see that she was no longer in the open air hanger of the MDC. Instead her senses were being assaulted from all angles by that of a windswept beach. The air was biting, the water was causing the smell of salt to billow through the air, and she could feel the sand clumping into her hair. Shaking her head while pushing the growing thought out of her head about how she really should just chop most of her hair off, she looked around for the man that had brought her here.

After a few moments she found him, he was quite hard to miss as they appeared to be the only people for miles. He was standing stock still on top of a hill with his hands out to his side, as if he was both expecting to launch into a fight and was woefully bewildered at the same time.

Natasha got her first real look at the man while slowing approach from behind; he was giving off the same vibes of a massive danger that Dr. Banner gave off, and Fury had warned that the artifact (which had turned out to be a painting) held a being more powerful than Loki. This man had apparently come from the painting, and not only healed _every_ injury in her body but had then transported the pair of them to this unknown location.

He was, in a word, powerful.

He also had shed the robes that he had been wearing before at his feet and she could see he had a body which reminded her of Stark's. He was on the short side, but he had almost a glow of presence about him. His hair was long, as was his beard, and both looked like they had been neglected for at least weeks. She again acknowledged to herself that he looked as if he had just walked off a battlefield.

He turned around as she got closer and it was again that she was drawn in by his eyes. She noted they held a note of sadness in them now, almost as if in pain of regret. Then she noticed the scar, in the shape of a lightning bolt, on his forehead.

"Ah, all in one piece?" he asked in a jovial tone, his voice cracking from apparent lack of use.

"Should I be?" Natasha questioned, raising an eyebrow at the man who laughed.

"Yes, wouldn't want such a lovely bird to be missing bits," he looked down at his chest as he said this before looking back up to her, "Do me a favor and watch over my body for a bit, would you?"

Natasha was about to question what he was talking about when he collapsed in a heap on the ground. Natasha ran forward to make sure he was okay and noted that he was completely out of it, didn't even respond to a slap across the face.

She stood up and looked around, and noticed that the only thing she could see for miles around was a burned up shack that was about five hundred feet away.

"Well," she said to the heap at her feet, "This is just great."

X X X

"Hawkeye, just go sit in the corner," Fury said in his calm voice, which meant that he was anything but.

"Sir, why?" Clint responded, walking into his office with Agent Hill.

"So I don't have to look at your dumb ass, now move!" Fury roared, his anger finally bubbling to the surface, "Now do either of you want to tell me exactly how not only has my best field agent gone missing, but so has the artifact that the two of you were sent to retrieve?"

"Sir, Agent Romanoff was just entering the compound when Agent Barton mistook a hand single she gave as the go ahead for phase two of the mission," Agent Hill started, giving a quick look at Clint who was currently sitting in the corner out of sight from Fury, "I gave the go ahead to accelerate the capture of the artifact and salvage the mission. It was after all a bag and tag."

"Then how the hell did Agent Romanoff go missing?" Fury bit out, before turning so his good eye could stare in Clint's direction, "Please tell me that Agent Barton had something to do with it."

Clint visibly swallowed before picking up the story, "I was fighting my way into the compound when Agent Romanoff was kicked in her shoulder causing her hand to come in contact with the artifact. When this happened a bright golden light was emitted from the artifact knocking everyone in the immediate area off their feet. When I got to my feet I noticed that a man in robes the style of Loki's was standing over Agent Romanoff. They exchanged some words before they both literally 'popped' away."

Fury stared a hole in Clint, multiple questions running across his face before he seemed to finally settle on one.

"Agent Hill," Fury started, still boring a hole into Clint, "Is that what the camera's picked up?"

"Agent Barton is telling the truth, sir," Hill replied, as Fury brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose and turned away from Clint.

"Has anybody been able to track down where this man 'popped' away with Agent Romanoff to?" Fury questioned, walking to his desk.

"No sir," Hill replied, "Her tracker failed the moment that she and the man disappeared."

Fury sighed, actually looking slightly worried. It was a sight that few in SHIELD every got to see, and it was usually a harbinger of a great amount of difficulty in the future.

"Start a satellite trace for her," Fury said, directing his comments at Hill, "Put all agents on High Alert. Also get Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, and Dr. Banner in her as soon as you can. Tell them that the end of the world is nigh if they question why they're needed."

Hill immediately walked out, hearing the dismissal in Fury's voice. Clint stood up, and started to walk towards Fury.

"Agent Barton," Fury said, "Did I tell you that you could leave your corner?"

Clint stopped dead in his tracks, "Well, no sir."

"THEN GET BACK IN IT!" Fury roared, "I'm holding everything that happens as a result of this mission personally on you, and you are staying in that corner until either we find Agent Romanoff or I get sick and tired of my new Hawkeye plant!"

Clint sat back down, he had a feeling he was going to be there a while.

X X X

Natasha took stock of everything that she had on her. The mission bag had been left behind when they had left, all the electronics that she normally kept on her person (including her phone, and her GPS tracker most frustratingly of all) were either unresponsive or melted, and her clothes (her typical leather jumpsuit) were torn all over the place.

She luckily still had her guns on her, and she only hoped that the man in front of her wasn't as unresponsive to them as most of these mythical beings were.

She had picked the man up and carried him to the burned out cottage, noting that he was a lot lighter than he looked. She also noticed that even in his passed out state that he looked to be in a state of duress, a state that she knew that she looked like whenever someone observed her in the same state. In a way it brought a note of empathy to her mind – no matter if someone was her enemy or not she always could feel when another being was trying to outrun their past.

This man pulled on every single one of those feelings.

She had rifled through all his pockets, and was surprised that she found absolutely nothing in them. She had walked through the cottage that appeared as if the only reason that it was still standing was through magic and found that it showed all the signs of not only a fierce battle, but of being abandoned for years. Everywhere she walked, though, she could feel as if energy was lingering in the air along with a sadness that she just couldn't put her finger on.

People thought that as an assassin and spy that she was cold, and unfeeling. Very few knew the truth, that she was very empathetic, it was what made her so good at her job. It was easier to walk through her day to day life giving the portrayal that she didn't care; it helped her from forming personal attachments. With the way her life had been before Clint had found her and introduced her to SHIELD, she couldn't afford attachments.

They were too dangerous.

She walked back down the stairs and she immediately felt something was wrong. She slowly turned around and that's when she noticed that the man was now standing there.

"Hello again," he said, looking around as if he was taking stock of the situation, "Thanks for watching over me."

He gave her a quick look and she could tell that he was sizing her up.

"Don't remember if I introduced myself before, but I'm Harry," he said, extending his hand out to her, which she hesitatingly took. She did her best not to show that she felt power radiating off of him as he went on, "I must thank you for letting me out of that painting. It was quite boring in there."

"You were in that painting?" Natasha asked before she could stop herself.

"Long story, but yes."

"Why were you in there?" she asked again. She was surprised when he chuckled, and then was even more surprised when he waved his hand and two chairs appeared out of nowhere. He waved for her to sit down as he did so himself.

"That is a long story, and one that I feel you should know the answer to," Harry said, bringing his hands to his beard. Natasha was surprised again when he removed his hands from his face and his beard had disappeared, leaving behind a face that was made on angles. He waved his hand again and she saw his clothing mended itself, before he waved his hand at her causing her own clothing to mend as well.

"Before I start," he said, the last wave of his hand seeming to bring a bit of strain to himself, "What is your name?"

"Natasha," she replied, wondering what the full extent of his powers were. What he had casually done so far was worrying if he was as dangerous as Fury had implied.

"Pretty name," he replied with a smile, "You don't look or sound like you're from England, or Germany."

"I'm Russian," she replied, before adding, "Well, I was once."

"I knew a few people from that area back…years ago," Harry replied, his eyes going distant for a minute, "Which I guess is part of my story."

"Tell me Natasha, you seem like a woman of action. What do you do with a weapon that you don't need anymore?"

"You put it away until you need it again," she replied without emotion.

"Precisely," he stated, turning his attention back to her, "I was a weapon, and I ran out of uses. Because I was deemed too dangerous by my people I was to be hid away until I was needed again."

"What people?" Natasha asked.

"Tell me Natasha," Harry began, "do you believe in magic?"

"Yes," she replied, having seen what she could only describe as magic not only in the past few minutes, but before in the Avenger's fight against Loki.

"There once was an entire community on this planet, and there still might be, made up of practitioners of the magic that I wield, "he continued, "A great war happened, and most of us were killed off. In the ensuing months and years after what we thought was the final battle, even more of us kept dying off. Those of us that were smart and had learned the signs of evil knew that our fight wasn't over."

Here he sighed, the menace of years creeping into his face and voice, "But the people in charge only believed that the reason Death was still visiting and slowly killing off my world was because I was there. So they decided that I needed to be locked away where I could no longer harm them, but they – and only they – could retrieve me if things didn't go as planned."

"Why did they decide that you were the reason everyone was being killed?" Natasha asked, being very careful not to let suspicion drain into her voice. Instead, she let empathy show through. If this story was real, it had the elements of tragedy in it.

"Because I am the Master of Death," Harry replied, with a smirk on his face as he was fishing for a reaction. When none came except for confusion, he continued, "I had beaten Death itself twice that these people had known of. There is a spell we can use that literally summons Death to collect a person, and as far as everyone could tell I was immune to it. I was a "freak" as they would say.

"It was decided that my very existence offended Death, so I was locked in the painting."

He paused in his story, and looked at Natasha, "I won't lie, there was a fight to get me in there. I could have kept running away, but when my own friends showed up to help put me in…I let it happen. So there I stayed until you freed me."

He chuckled for a second, the laugh sounding like a bit of music to her ears, "Thanks for that by the way. I owe you a lifetime of favors for that."

Natasha ran his entire story through her head, knowing that he was leaving parts out. It just seemed too…tidy. He started speaking again, "How did you find me, by the way?"

"An organization of terrorists known as the Mow Dock Consortium had found the painting you were in," she started, deciding to be honest, "My organization, which is dedicated to stopping all threats to worldwide stability, caught wind that they had come into a massive weapon. As the MDC is not known to be competent, it was decided that the weapon had to be removed from their hands before they did something."

"That's why you were in such a fight," Harry murmured, taking her story on face value, "You probably need to get back to your organization don't you?"

"I believe they are probably searching the globe for me as we speak," Natasha slowly replied, almost in hesitation.

"Think about where you need to meet up with them," was his reply, as he stood up, "I'll take us there, I'm pretty sure they have a few questions for me as well."

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

"Bring into your mind where you would normally be meeting up with your people," he replied, laying a hand softly on her forehead, "I can bring us there. Just try."

She closed her eyes, knowing that at the moment she was more or less at his mercy. She immediately thought of Fury's office, before she felt an outside presence slip into and around her thoughts. She gasped as it left just as quickly as it entered.

"Holy on tight Natasha," Harry said, with a small smile, "And try to keep your lunch inside this time."

With a 'pop' the cottage stood empty again.

**End Chapter Two**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Without giving too much away: was an evil released? Yes. Who or what is it? You'll see.

Before anybody says anything, Hawkeye isn't going to be incompetent in this story; I was just having some fun with him for a bit. He'll be back to normal soon.

Until next time, thank you for all the reviews!


	3. Chapter Three

_****__**The Spy and the Painting  
**____by J. Merrick_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Nick Fury has seen and experienced many things in his life. Just looking at the man's body was enough to get the summary of a story that most bragged about reading, but instead just kept on their bookshelf. Every time they opened the first page, the writing too dense and the story too tragic to continue further. Those that did read farther than the front flap though, understood why Fury was the unquestioned Director of SHEILD.

Well, from time to time there were those that questioned why he was in charge, but the end of the world usually poked its head around the corner and those people usually shut their mouths with a quickness.

With all this experience and "seasoning" (as he had heard Tony Stark snark behind his back a few times to Agent Barton's amusement) not much actively surprised him.

Then Agent Romanoff and a man that radiated power quite literally "popped" into his office.

"What the-" his curse being cut off as his operative known as the Black Widow proceeded to start dry heaving as the man that had seemingly brought her to his office from parts unknown looked around as if to figure out where he was.

Nick Fury wasn't in his position for no reason, as has been stated. Which was why he had his side arm pointed directly at the mystery man within moments of his arrival.

"You had better start talking quick about what just happened or I will consider you hostile," exited his mouth. It was apparently the wrong thing to say, for as soon as the words left his mouth the man waved his hand and Fury's side arm literally vanished.

"You might want to start considering," the man responded, before he waved his hand again and a chair appeared behind him, which he casually sat down into, "But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt as we've only just met."

He waved his hand again at Agent Romanoff, who was just starting to sit up, who immediately slipped back down again in what appeared to be sleep.

"Am I to assume that the one in the corner who has a bow and arrow pointed at me is not hostile to you?" the man asked casually.

"No, he's one of my best agents," Fury stated, seating himself behind his desk. He had been in hostage situations before, sometimes it was just best to let things play out with one person assuming that they had an advantage. Of course, he wasn't sure if the both of them weren't playing the same game.

"Alright, then as a show of faith for the moment he can keep that weapon pointed at me," the man replied, before extending his hand out, "I'm Harry, and you are Nick Fury, Director of Shield I take it?"

Fury didn't take Harry's hand, choosing instead to just glare at it.

"Correct," he responded instead, "And you are supposed to be in a painting."

"Well, cat's sort of out of the bag now," Harry replied, dropping his hand, before bringing it back up again – this time holding a cup of tea. The casual use of magic did not go unnoticed by Fury as Harry continued speaking, "I'm assuming that you are getting all your information from the Ministry of Magic?"

"Correct, once again," Fury replied, "So excuse me if I remain cautious. According to all the files we have on you and your situation, you're the most dangerous being currently residing on this world."

"I would enjoy seeing how I matched up with Thor if I had the chance," Harry mentioned as he sipped his tea. Fury picked up on the idle threat and wondered how this man – who had no contact outside of the Magical world before being sealed in the painting even knew who Thor was.

"We're also supposed to treat you how we treated his brother," Fury continued, knowing that if Harry was as perceptive as he seemed he would indeed pick up on the trap he was laying at his feet.

"You mean when Loki led the Chitauri invasion of Earth?" was the reply, which seemed to joyfully walk straight into the trap. Fury's only response was to purse his lips.

"Exactly," he leveled out, his hand going underneath his desk to one of the weapons that had angered Stark and Captain Rogers so easily. He was starting to form a small idea how Harry knew all this information, and if he was as dangerous as his file suggested then things were about to get dangerous.

"Well Director Fury I can assure you that won't be necessary," Harry said, finishing his tea and calmly setting the cup down on what appeared to be thin air, "As long as you promise to leave me alone. I just got released from a captivity I wasn't quite fond of, and there's a few people I need to go speak to before I attend to anything else."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Fury stated, causing Harry to chuckle, "And I fail to see what you find so funny."

"Director Fury, I meant you no harm," Harry replied, still chuckling, "Now, you can let me walk out of here no fuss and we'll forget that we ever met each other."

"Or?"

"I hope you can wake Miss Romanoff up in time," Harry replied, standing, "Because I left how to undue what's about to happen in her mind when I ventured into it earlier. Give her my regards, and tell her I'm sorry. I know how she hates being used."

Harry closed his eyes as Fury felt dread building in the back of his head.

"Like I do," Harry's eyes snapped open and with a loud 'CLAP!' all the lights flashed off and every alarm started ringing at once.

Fury felt the arrow that Agent Barton had just shot go flying past his head as the lights flickered back on, revealing that Harry was no longer in the room.

"FIND HIM!" Fury shouted out, as Agent Hill came running in.

"Sir all the engines stopped working, and all of our electronics are fried," she said, "They also all seem to be contained behind some sort of barrier that is preventing us from getting to them."

Fury looked down at Agent Romanoff, who was starting to wake up as if from a coma.

"Agent Romanoff please tell me you know what to do."

X X X

Harry appeared with an inaudible sound about five hundred yards away from where the Burrow used to stand. It had been years since he had been to this spot, as the memories it usually drug up were ones that he tried he damnedest to forget, but he had a notion that he would start getting some of the answers he was after quicker by venturing here.

For better or for worse.

He needed to know the current status of the Magical World, and the quickest way of doing that was to go to an area that he knew would be warded specifically for him. He sent out low level magical probes of the surrounding area, looking for any triggers or ward lines.

None came back.

Feeling slightly more desperate he started casting curses he knew were on watch lists, and after ten minutes of neither hide nor hair he started casting everything he could think of: low level curses, borderline dark incantations, magical distress spells.

Nothing came.

Harry collapsed on the ground as he felt his body start to become exhausted from his flurry of spell work. When he had probed Natasha's mind he was able to ascertain that he had been locked in the painting for twelve years, and he had hoped that somebody from the magical world had been able to survive the Culling that had been foisted on it before he was locked away. Obviously they hadn't.

He sat down on the ground and pulled a cup of tea from the air. When he had told Natasha that he was the Master of Death, he hadn't been lying. The Magical World had understood it to be because Death couldn't reap him, but they didn't know that because he had gained control over Death's three hallows, he literally was it's Master. Unfortunately, such power always came with a price.

Death needed souls for it's ledger, and Harry would provide those souls or Death would find a way. Thus the Culling.

Harry had been trying to figure out a way to make a bargain with Death when the painting had been suggested. He knew that just because he was locked away didn't mean the Culling would stop, just that he wouldn't have control over Death's Ledger. He closed his eyes as he took a sip of the tea and felt his energy return, remembering the innocent souls he had been forced to add to the Ledger.

The red was overflowing.

He finished the tea and stood up, his energy levels back. After laying dormant for so long, he ran through his reserves quite quickly, but the more he flexed his muscles the more his strength came back. He felt out with his magic to make sure that no one was around, something he was kicking himself for not doing before.

It was time to venture to Hogwarts, maybe some answers would lay there. First though, he had a certain spider he had to apologize to.

He disappeared without a sound.

X X X

Natasha sat in the briefing room on the now returned to normal operations to the Helicarrier. The rest of the Avengers Initiative (minus Thor, who seemed to come and go as needed) were listening to Fury brief what had transpired over the past few hours.

She however, was wrapped in her own thoughts.

When she had woken up it was to absolute chaos, but somehow she knew exactly what to do to fix it. As if instructions had been left in her mind for this exact purpose. Well, not "as if," that was exactly what had happened. She hadn't realized it at the time but when Harry had gone into her mind, he had done more than just pull out the location of where they needed to go, but had also quickly rifled through all of her thoughts.

What he didn't know was that the connection had gone two ways. She hadn't even realized it at the time, and not even until after all the chaos had settled down and she had sat down in the locker room for a moment. It was just flashes, bits, pieces. The same that she knew he had seen of her.

It was enough to know that his soul was tortured, and his ledger bled red like hers.

She was annoyed that he had used her almost as a pawn, but knew enough from his thoughts that he considered himself honorable enough that he would find some way to apologize for it. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about the fact that she was looking forward to that and she was trying not to analyze those emotions.

She looked back out over the team, noticing that even Stark was listening to Fury with his version of rapt attention. They were all completely on board with hunting Harry down, and they didn't even know _why_ or _who_. They were just taking Fury on face value. That and the enormous power that Harry had casually thrown around earlier.

She made a decision that she knew in her heart to be the right one, but hoped that she wouldn't regret.

"I'm sorry, I have to sit this one out," she announced as she stood up. All eyes turned to her, as if not understanding and she realized the had interrupted Fury mid-sentence. She steeled her shoulders up and continued, "Call me compromised, I don't care. There's more to this than we know and I'm going to go find it. I would appreciate it if you left me to it."

She turned around and walked out of the room, to what she was sure was chaos in her wake.

X X X

Eight hours later Natasha stood in front on Privet Drive, in front of house number four. She had traveled here using one of her many aliases that she knew SHIELD knew about, but as they had let her walk out with little fanfare (she supposed that once again Fury knew more than he was letting on), she assumed they would not be watching too heavily. Hopefully just enough that if she sent up a message of distress they would respond quickly enough.

Analyzing the thoughts she had received from Harry had brought her to this house. She didn't know it's significance, only that in Harry's mind, 'the story started here.' Looking around she saw that no one was watching her, and in fact were just glossing over her appearance, almost as if they didn't _want_ to see her.

If there was one thing Natasha Romanoff knew, it was that when people actively avoided looking at you it was because something was wrong.

She walked up the drive and to the door of the house and knocked, hoping that whoever was home would at least be able to start giving her the answers that she needed, and to help her find Harry.

The door opened before she could bring her hand down once. After not being invited in, or hearing any other sound she walked in, drawing her gun.

"You won't be needing that," came a familiar voice from the living room, causing her to spin, "I promise not to bite."

It was Harry.

**End Chapter Three**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I hope this _started_ to answer _some_ of the questions you have. There's still more to come!

Next chapter will have some more revelations, some more talking between Harry and Natasha, and some other...things.

Thanks to everyone that reviews, it really makes my day to see how this is being received, and gives me a good meter to go by to see if what I'm writing is clicking right! Thanks again!


	4. Chapter Four

_**The Spy and the Painting  
**__by J. Merrick_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Natasha kept her weapons raised; something about the situation raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

"How do you know I won't?" she instead replied. While she felt some sympathy for the man, until she knew his entire story she would not be letting her guard down around him. The pure amount of power that he casually displayed was worrying, especially for someone that seemed to be 'free agent.'

"Oh you could try," Harry said, before his visage flickered, "But you'll find that I'm not really here. This is nothing more than a spell that I left behind for you to find."

Natasha didn't relax her weapon still, instead deciding to make a show of flicking the safeties off.

"If you want to be like that, fine," the apparent apparition said, walking over to couch and taking a seat on it. It waved its hand and a tea set appeared. Looking up at Natasha, it continued, "Tea? I imagine that you're quite tired after the ordeal I unfortunately put you through."

"How much of this will you know from this conversation," Natasha stopped for a moment, "The real you, that is."

"Every single part of it," the Not-Harry replied, "I'm currently in the library of my former school-"

"Hogwarts," the word came to Natasha before she even thought about it.

"Yes, Hogwarts," It said, with a raised eyebrow, "How did you know that?"

"When you went into my head, you apparently left some of yours behind in mine," Natasha related, "By the way, ever go into my head like that again and I will snap your neck."

"Agreed," Not-Harry replied, looking thoughtful, "So how much of my thoughts were you able to glean?"

"Not much, enough to know you're not the threat that SHIELD thinks you are," Natasha paused again, "At least not to them. There is a threat there…something evil lurking in the corners."

"Interesting," Not-Harry considered, "So knowing that you still came looking for me."

"I know what it's like to having evil lurking around my corners," Natasha replied, finally lowering her weapons, "To have too much red on my ledgers."

Not-Harry floated the tea cup over to Natasha, who took a hesitant sip of it.

"The story I told you before was mostly true," Not-Harry began, "It certainly wasn't a lie by any means, just not the entire truth."

"I picked up on that," Natasha replied.

"As it stands, I don't know the full truth myself," a hesitation, "I know what the truth was before I was locked in the painting, but as of right now I'm trying to know what the current truth is. I'm not sure what playing field I'm on right now, and it is rather frustrating."

"I could help," Natasha offered. If she was able to convince Harry to let her, not only could she hopefully keep tabs on one of the most powerful beings she had ever met, but also (and more importantly) _keep SHIELD away from him_.

"Who would you be helping for?" Not-Harry offered in return.

"You," Natasha replied, deciding to play the 'versions of the Truth' game that Harry was as well, "We find your truth, we put your evil to ease, and we get my friends to leave you to the peace you deserve."

"What do you get from this?" Not-Harry again offered.

"I get to erase more red from my ledger," Natasha replied, true honesty springing forward, "I get these feelings that come to me when an opportunity to do so arrives. Perhaps helping you erase your red will help me to clear the red from mine."

Not-Harry looked momentarily startled, as if something Natasha had said reminded him of something that had been laying dormant in his mind. After that moment though, the look vanished to be replaced by the thoughtful expression that had been there before. Natasha raised her eyebrow at it, as if prompting.

"I certainly am interested in knowing how your mind experienced feedback from mine," Not-Harry said, finally, "There's a story you need to know then, and here is not the place to tell it."

The apparition faded from existence, and then Natasha heard a small 'pop' sound from besides her. Harry came into view, looking like he had just found out something distressing. He was carrying a couple books and some loose parchment in his hands.

"I feel the best place to start this story would be, of course, where it all began," he said, offering a free hand to Natasha. She took it, looking into his eyes.

"I'm trusting you," she said, putting as much conviction behind her words as she could. Almost as if she was conveying a warning. Harry nodded, and she felt the urge to trust him once again flirt across her mind.

"I thank you," Harry replied, before they both disappeared with a small, 'pop.'

X X X

Deep in a dark, foreboding forest there was an area that seemed darker than the others. The ground looked like there had been a curse placed upon it, and any being that walked into the area would feel as if all hope had been quickly drained out of their body.

To old soldiers it was obvious that the area had once been the site of a battle, and that true evil had once occupied this spot. Nothing seemed to grow, not as in everything was dead but it appeared as if nothing had ever been alive. Standing on the spot brought a silence so deafening that it could drive one to madness.

The animals in the forest knew to avoid this place, by instinct. It was a last resort of animals being chased for food, a refuge that one might use if desperate. Those animals that did venture into this area though knew that within days they would find themselves dead, after an hour of lunacy.

The forest had started to form a barrier around the area, a warning to all. To try to protect those that lived within, or to those that ventured in unannounced.

It was a place of evil.

And a hand had just broken through the ground, with a specter slowing making its way out.

X X X

Harry stood behind Natasha as they stood in front of the grave of Albus Dumbledore. He hadn't shown it, but he had been slightly surprised when he didn't need to pull her across the muggle repelling wards when he brought her to the Hogwarts grounds. It was another on a list of things that he found increasingly peculiar about Natasha Romanoff.

Now was not the time to examine those thoughts though.

He had been popping all over the world as he filled in the blanks of his story to her. He felt a need to tell her the full truth, and for her to know the full truth about what she was agreeing to help him with she needed to know the story. She needed to know him, warts and all. The first seven years of the story had been easy; it was the warts that he was worried about.

"So you defeated Voldemort, assuming the title of the Master of Death?" Natasha asked, apparently done processing the story up until this point. He supposed it was a plus that she was a fully trained spy and assassin: she could process information and retain it quite quickly.

"Yes," he grabbed her hand and led her away from the grave of his mentor, "Afterwards for many months I just assumed the title was just that, a title."

He paused as they continued to walk across the grounds, searching for the correct words.

"The only people that had been dying in the immediate aftermath were people that we didn't know were dying," he continued, "They weren't friendly to the new paradigm, so we had no reason to expect anything.

"It was only a year later when it was finally noticed that people were dying, almost as if at random. A bright golden light would precede them, and then they would simply drop dead. No one knew what was going on, but eventually it was determined that it was Death that was coming."

He paused again torn on how to continue. He felt Natasha squeeze his hand slightly, and he continued on, "From there a prophecy was discovered, and they determined that I was the focus of it. I never heard the complete prophecy, but it contained the line: _and he that has mocked Death shall be its master, till the ledger is clear_. There was only one person that they could think of that met the description as one who mocked Death: Me."

He paused again, before he turned to look at Natasha, "I went on the run immediately after hearing what they intended to do. It was while there that I learned the terrible secret: the title of 'Master of Death' meant more than just words.

"Death Itself came to visit me, and explained that by uniting It's Hallows and mocking It by refusing to die, I was Its Master. I was the one that was to be directing Death to the souls It needed. If I didn't provide Death with these souls, then Death would choose for me. I tried to fight, I tried to argue, but it was useless. Death showed me how until _the ledger was clear_ than I had a duty to provide It Souls."

Harry paused, taking a deep breath, "I tried being It's Master for a single day. The universe was kind; I only needed to provide a singular soul per day for my 'duty' to be collect. I had even been granted extra powers – the ones you have seen me so casually using – in an effort to provide these souls easier."

They were outside the gates now, and Harry could no longer concentrate on the world around him. He was too lost in the memories of the past. He couldn't even feel himself being directed to a tree stump to sit on by Natasha.

"I tried for one day. I condemned a singular soul over to Death. I felt horrible. I didn't even feel _human_ anymore. Death _smile_ at me when I made the decision. I was happy to accept being tossed in my prison if it meant I didn't have to experience that decision again."

Harry looked up, and held a piece of parchment out to Natasha, which she hesitatingly grabbed.

"The Culling never stopped," Harry breathed, "Without Its Master Death did not respond kindly, decided to go after the people that locked me away, deciding that the entire magical world deserved its reckoning."

Natasha looked over the parchment, finding it to be a chronicle of the final days of the magical world.

"Bozhe moy," Natasha whispered under her breath. She looked up at Harry, who was barely holding it together. At that moment Natasha didn't see the man with the restrained power at his fingertips that had been present before. Now all she saw was a broken soul, one that had much placed on its ledgers with no hope of recovery.

She gently placed her hands over his and brought his hands up to her temples. She brought a thought to her head, of a place that she had never even brought Clint to.

"Let's go here, Harry," she whispered.

They left with a pop, not noticing that a wraith like figure had been observing them from the dark.

X X X

Bruce Banner stood looking out the window of the Helicarrier. The Other Guy had been sensing that something was brewing down below, and he had learned to trust his instincts. A stir had been caused by the Black Widow just walking out on SHIELD, but Fury had instructed the rest of them to just let her go. He had said that she would be back when she was ready.

Bruce wasn't dumb, he knew that she knew more about what was going on than what Fury was relating and didn't agree with his approach. Natasha would never publically disagree with Fury, so she did the only thing she could do without undermining her boss: she had removed herself.

Currently Tony was working with Agent Hill on a way to track down the Wizard known as Harry, the one who had quite literally appeared in the middle of Fury's office after being trapped in a painting and then disabled the entire Helicarrier. Fury had told the team that the Wizard was dangerous, that the people who had locked him away had left a warning to the world that Death preceded him.

He needed to be found, Banner agreed with that. He just didn't know if the sense of foreboding that he was feeling was related to what would happen when that occurred.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone walking towards him, Agent Barton it turned out. Bruce liked the man; he had a touch of Tony's personality without becoming completely overbearing. He also knew what buttons _not_ to touch, which he couldn't say about Tony, although he did have to admit to himself that was one of the reasons he enjoyed spending so much time around the Iron Man.

"Tell me this doesn't smell right to you," the man known as Hawkeye said to Bruce as he walked up.

"I really don't know how this smells," Bruce replied, "I know Fury knows better than to lie to us anymore, Rogers and Tony would both murder him. Natasha though…why would she leave like that?"

Here Clint hung his head slightly in shame, "She's been mad at me lately, there have been two missions now in a row that went wrong that I know she blames on me. I think she might have finally reached a point of burn out."

Bruce considered this, and decided to keep his thoughts of Agent Romanoff and her decision to remove herself from a decision that she disagreed with to himself.

"I don't know," he said instead, "The Other Guy…he's practically screaming a warning in my head that something doesn't feel right."

"I can hear him over here," Clint said with a smile. Bruce was about to respond when sirens started blaring on the Helicarrier.

"That can't be good," Bruce mumbled as he followed Barton inside.

X X X

Natasha smiled as she watched Harry pound back another shot of vodka. It turned out that he had a tolerance on level with Captain Rogers and Thor normally, but if he relaxed his magic he could actually allow the affects to wash over him. He was actually smiling, and it looked good on his face.

"You should probably smile more," she told him, noticing that after spending the past hour here that her words had started to take on more of her accent that she normally kept buried, "It makes your face look better."

"You're one to talk," Harry responded, his green eyes dancing, "Your smile probably would have stopped Voldemort in his tracks."

Natasha actually blushed, before sticking her tongue out at Harry. They both laughed at the immaturity. The bartended came back and asked the two in Russian if they wanted something else to drink. Harry ordered two more shots.

In Russian.

Natasha just stared at him, waiting for him to turn back. When he did, he looked at her with an odd expression on his face.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you know what you just did?" she asked, dropping into her native language.

"No, should I be worried?" he replied in the same. It was a testament to how much he had let his magic relax that it took him more than a second to realize what he had done, "Am I speaking in Russian?"

Natasha nodded her head, looking at him oddly. Before either of them could respond her phone rang, the number appearing as blocked. The only number in the world that did that to this phone was SHIELD.

"Da?" she questioned, answering it.

"Natasha?" it was Clint on the other end, "Please tell me that you actually went out to find the Wizard."

"Why?" she questioned, preferring to keep as much difference between Harry and SHIELD as she could.

"Because we need him," was the answer, "something happened that Fury said we needed the Wizard for. Not as a trap, but as help."

"Why?" was her response again, her hand reaching out and finding Harry's for a reason that she honestly could not explain to herself.

"A being that is directly referred to in Fury's intel of Harry has appeared," Clint relayed, "One that it says should be dead, and Harry had defeated before. Something called Voldemort."

Natasha dropped the phone from her ear and slowly hung the phone up.

"He's back isn't he?" Harry asked, his face becoming sober immediately.

"Yes."

**End Chapter Four**

* * *

**Author's notes: **Thanks for the incredible response so far! I love reading all your reviews!

Please read and review, thanks again!


	5. Chapter Five

_****__**The Spy and the Painting  
**____by J. Merrick_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Harry didn't immediately react, instead choosing to pick up his shot of vodka and slowly swirl it around while he collected his thoughts. The right thing to do in this situation – nay, the thing he was probably _expected_ to do – would be to go into SHIELD, tell them everything that he knew about Voldemort so as to give them a fighting chance, offer his assistance in any way possible, and then sit down for a nice chit chat with Fury after it was all over.

Or...

He slammed back his vodka, and shook his head as if to clear it out. He stood up and offered his hand to Natasha.

"How well can you walk and talk on that thing?" he asked.

"Decently well," she responded, taking his hand after tossing a few notes onto the bar. She allowed herself to be guided out of the bar and into the sunlight and snow by Harry.

"Good, I need you to call Fury while we're moving," he continued once they were outside, "There's an old friend of mine that I need to speak to."

He immediately felt Natasha square her feet into the ground, stopping his movement by pulling on his arm.

"We are _not_ going directly to face Voldemort," she said, Harry noticing that all signs of her creeping accent gone as sobriety had taken over, "That would be suicide."

"First, stop saying his name," he responded, "I don't know how advanced he's gotten but he used to be able to track people just by them uttering it. Second, get Fury on the phone so I can relay a few things to him. Third, that's not the friend we're going to meet."

Natasha looked at him for a few seconds until comprehension dawned on her face.

"Are you sure?" she asked, already walking forward hand in hand with him as she pulled out her phone.

"Never," Harry muttered as he pulled Natasha into an alleyway.

X X X

Nick Fury had thought today was going to be bringing a headache, he just hadn't figured on it growing to be this large. When he had first taken over as Director of SHIELD he had been briefed on the dying embers that were the magical world, and had been grateful that one piece of of his puzzle no longer was a player on the board. Now that it had dug it's way back it seemed that each passing moment granted his mind another variable to deal with.

He was lucky that after dealing with the last major crisis on Earth that the Avengers had found a way to cohabitate, balancing each other and SHIELD's needs out easily. Stark contributed more than Fury ever thought he would be able to give him credit for, and the fact that Banner continued to work with him meant those two were pumping technology out that far outpaced everything that there had been access to before.

Thor and Captain Roger's natural abilities had been augmented by this technology, Stark's Iron Man was a scientific miracle in motion, Agent Barton's skills were much better accounted for (even if he had been having off days, something Fury was hoping he would pull his head out of his ass about), and Agent Romanoff's own unique talents were flourishing.

Which brought him back to Potter. The notes that had been provided about him had left much to be discussed, mainly focusing on that he was suspected of being behind the death of the magical world and was a conduit of Death itself. He was an unknown, a variable that needed to be analyzed before it was allowed free reign. He had wanted the vessel that he had been trapped within brought in for reasons of controlling his reintroduction to the world...but that hadn't happened.

Instead, the past 24 hours of madness had occurred. Potter was let free and had casually brought SHIELD to it's knees with a wave of his hands, Romanoff had removed herself politely from the chessboard, and the most powerful dark sorcerer that the magical world had left notes about – a Voldemort – had returned to the land of the living, and announced it by raising an army of what his notes had told him were Inferi.

He had tasked out the Avengers he had left – Barton, Rogers, Stark, and Banner – to try to contain the problem with a warning of the situation there were walking into. They had been reporting a small measure of success in containment, but the numbers kept growing.

Then there was the voice in the back of his mind that was telling him that It was almost going to easily. That worried him.

His personal office phone started ringing, and he hit the button on his screen that would answer it.

"What?" he growled. No one had the ability to dial him directly, and those underneath him knew that to send something frivolous to him was akin to asking for death.

"Sir, it's Agent Romanoff," came the voice of his best Agent. Fury's mind immediately zeroed in on it.

"Agent Romanoff you had better be calling to tell me that your little vacation is over because right now-" he began before getting interrupted.

"I'm sorry sir, but this is important," she cut him off, causing Fury to tilt his head. She would never do something like that unless there was a _very_ good reason, "Potter needed me to relay a couple of things to you."

"Why can't Potter tell me them himself?" he asked, knowing he was wasting time, but also knowing that technicians were busy pinpointing the call's exact location as they spoke.

"He said that his magic would probably break the phone," was the answer he received, "Sir, he said that the dark magician we're fighting would only reveal himself if he stood to gain from it, and that every time you say his voice he is able to track your exact location."

"You mean like Bloody Mary?" Fury snorted. He heard some fumbling before the voice he had been hoping to hear took over.

"Fury, listen closely," came the clipped British voice, "We will have our words after this mess is all taken care of, I promise you that, but you need to pull your men out immediately. He would not have let you known he was there unless it was to lure you in. The thing about his name? Almost got me killed multiple times."

"Potter, if you know so much about him why don't you just replace my people then?" Fury growled, "I would prefer to treat this how you magicals used to do so."

"I have something much more pressing to worry about," came a short answer, "I'm only telling you this because I know deep down you have the protection of this world in mind. If you're fighting Inferi, fire is your best bet."

Fury was about to say something when the call was suddenly cut off. He quickly shot off a message that would get related to the Avengers about using fire before looking up to see Agent Hill standing before him.

"Were they able to trace the call?" he asked.

"Yes sir, but they had already left," Hill replied, then hesitated to continue, "Sir, what if Potter was right about being drawn into a trap?"

"I have no doubt we are," Fury replied, suddenly feeling very old, "But what other choice do we have at the moment?"

X X X

Harry felt Natasha moving behind him, slightly irritated. He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed apparating away with her with little to no warning, if only for the glare she leveled at him each time he did it. He also knew that he was going to have to find a way to make this worlds electronics work better around his magic, as he didn't need a repeat of Natasha's phone blowing up in his face.

Also because some of Natasha's gadgets looked like they could be quite useful if he could find a way to make them work.

They walked out of the train station where Natasha had picked up a dead drop of equipment. He had to admit that it was a plus that she was a Master Spy and Assassin because they were able to go to just about any major city and have tools to work with.

"I'm giving you one more chance to back out of this," Harry offered after Natasha had indicated that they weren't being tailed.

"I'm too deep into this already," she replied, "I've already walked out on my boss, hung up on him, and shown you my favorite bar. Clint would say I've been compromised."

"Wouldn't be the first time I was compromised by a redhead," Harry joked as Natasha rolled her eyes, "Are you sure that everything in there isn't electronic?"

"Yes," was the short reply that he got.

"Good, because where we're going I don't think I would be able to uphold a shield around everything long enough before it blew up," Harry remarked, grabbing her hand and pulling her into a phone booth and closing the door.

It was in this moment that Harry appreciated that the last time he had been in this phone booth he had been much smaller, with a less vixen-like woman. He also noted that in the little light that they had her eyes were absolutely stunning.

"There a reason you pulled me in here in you aren't going to kiss me?" Natasha asked, her naturally husky voice coming out in little more than a whisper as she looked into his eyes. Harry had to close his eyes to refocus on what he was doing.

"Remind me after this is over the answer that properly," he whispered back, picking up the phone and dialing a five-digit code into it.

The look on Natasha's face as the floor dropped out underneath them was almost as good as the glare she gave when he apparated them without warning.

X X X

Tony Stark hovered above the street, helping to direct the other Avengers from above. He had never seen anything like these Inferi before, it seemed for each wave they killed they only kept coming back stronger and stronger. The piece of nasty business that was directing them also seemed to be getting more bold with each passing minute. There was also the fact that it seemed that each wave almost let itself be defeated just a little to easily...

"Hey Captain," he said, radioing down, "Is it just me or are these guys giving up just about every ten minutes?"

"No, it's like they want us to kill them," Captain Rogers, the Captain America, responded, "Are Hawkeye and the Hulk having the same issues?"

"Roger," Clint Barton chimed in over the radio, "It's like they're waiting for the Hulk to attack them."

"Very interesting," Tony murmured, "JARVIS you have any suggestions?"

"If they are luring you in for a trap why are they willing to sacrifice so many of there numbers, sir?" the voice of Tony's AI, JARVIS commented.

"Indeed," Tony replied, "It would mean they think they have something bigger...for...us..."

Tony trailed off as suddenly a golden light appeared from off in the distance of the city center.

"Hey guys, big golden light," he radioed down, "When in the history of cliches has that ever been a good sign?"

Their response was drowned out by the light suddenly exploding outwards and the entire sky going dark immediately after.

X X X

Every sense of Natasha's was going haywire as Harry led her through the run down former Ministry of Magic. Her flashlight was doing little to dispel the dark nature caused by the underground structure which had long since had the magic powering it evaporate. She made sure she kept her hand in Harry's, not because she was scared but because she did not want to get lost in an area that she had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't be able to leave without him.

"You certainly know how to show a girl a good time," Natasha snarked as Harry pulled her along a slightly familiar (due to the memories she had gleaned from Harry) path.

"Creepy places that scream 'you seriously do not want to be here' are sort of a special of the magical world," Harry answered back with a grin in his voice. They finally got to an elevator that had long since ceased to work.

"Do you have that rope?" Harry asked her. She grabbed the rope out of her bag and watched as he fastened it to the wall with a spell. She then handed him a pair of light grenades which he dropped into the elevator shaft so that they could see where they were going. He turned to her as he grabbed a hold of the rope, "I'll go first, if the area is all clear I'll call up for you."

Natasha nodded as she watched him descend. The time that they were separated seemed to creep to a crawl. It wasn't the darkness that bothered her, she in fact loved the feeling of total sensory deprivation due to her senses having been fine tuned by the people that had created her.

No, it was the feeling that was pressing in around her that there was something inherently _wrong_ that had happened here. She had gotten the same feeling right before she had went into the mission where Clint had spared and saved her in more ways than one; she had gotten the same feeling right before Loki launched his attack on Earth.

Something about coming here just didn't sit right with her, and her entire body was screaming at her to save herself. Save herself from _what_ though?

"Natasha you're safe," she heard Harry yell up. She quickly squashed all the thoughts that were screaming through her and grabbed the rope and descended down to wear Harry was waiting for her. When she disengaged herself from the rope she was greeted by what looked to be a magical wasteland being lit by a faint, deathly green glow.

"What happened here?" she questioned, as the back of her mind whispered that she knew if she looked at her thoughts more deeply.

"This is where they put me into that painting," Harry replied, grabbing her hand and leading her forward, "I'm pretty sure that if the rest of the Ministry building was lit it would look something like this. I wasn't happy."

Natasha snorted in mild amusement. It once again became apparent to her just how powerful Harry was if he was able to be responsible for this much damage. Then again, most people overlooked just how much damage she herself was capable of when she put her mind to it.

"If this is where you were put into that painting, why are we here?" Natasha asked, as both of their bodies seemed to direct them on the path that they needed to walk on, "This can not be a happy place for you."

"It isn't," Harry responded, "For more than one reason."

He took a deep breath as they walked out of a corridor and into a room that had an archway glowing in the middle of it, at the bottom of what appeared to be an auditorium. _The Veil of Death_ the back of Natasha's mind whispered at here.

"We're here because it's the only place I know of that I can talk to my old friend," Harry said, dropping Natasha's hand as he walked forward to the veil. He stopped about ten feet away from the veil, looked over his shoulder at Natasha one more time with a small look of fondness before turning back around. Natasha could _feel_ the power the was welling up around him in a quick instant.

Harry's voice suddenly boomed out, "_DEATH! I COMMAND YOU TO ATTEND TO YOUR MASTER!_"

The veil went pitch black as suddenly that feeling of Natasha's overwhelmed her.

**End Chapter Five**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Sorry for the small delay in getting this chapter up. I realized halfway through my first attempt to write the chapter that I had left a plot point un-addressed that was going to be important later and thus had t redo my story outline to fit it in where it wouldn't be dropping out of nowhere. I also have had a hectic couple of days of work.

I appreciate all the reviews, especially ones with constructive criticism in them. I'm very grateful that so many people are taking the time to not only stick there way through so much of the story so far but to also take the time to drop a few words as well.

Once again, thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing, and I will see you next time!


	6. Chapter Six

_****__**The Spy and the Painting  
**____by J. Merrick_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Natasha immediately felt her guard raise as a decidedly feminine figure stepped out of the veil. Looking at the manifestation of Death was not what she had expected, although it did cause the knot that had been slowly growing in her stomach to slam itself shut.

Death looked serene, almost bored as it lazily walked out and stretched. Harry looked none to amused, piercing it with a glare. Death chuckled at him.

"Harry, my dear, how nice to see you again," it spoke with a voice that defied description. It was silkly, it was lustful, it was dangerous, it was encouraging, it was soft, it was piercing. Natasha immediately felt an almost territorial urge to rush over and protect Harry, even though she knew that the reality of the situation was that Harry should be the one protecting her.

Those thoughts and feeling confused her.

"Hello, Death," Harry responded flatly, his arms crossed. His lack of response caused Death to almost _pout_ for a second before giving off a small laugh.

"Oh Harry, how I have missed your face," Death laughed, before she turned and saw Natasha. With an inhuman quickness she _pounced_ towards Natasha, settling before her and speaking in her impossible voice, "Oh you brought me a present?"

Natasha, against all better judgement, looked Death in the eye. Unlike Harry's eyes which were captivating, inviting, and powerful; Death's eyes were completely black, a blackness that seemed to stretch for miles into a void. Natasha felt in that instant her entire soul being laid bare as it gave a gleeful cackle.

"Oh aren't you beautiful," Death crooned, running an icy finger down Natasha's face. Natasha was horrified to find out that she couldn't move. Panic quietly crept down her spine as Death continued to talk, "And you've given me so much, my little Black Widow!"

Death turned around and spoke to Harry as her hand continued to caress Natasha's face, "You brought me something who's dripping so much red! I forgive you for running away from me, Harry dear."

"ENOUGH," Harry roared, dust rattling off the ceiling as the timbre of his voice cut through the air, "I'm not here to play games with you Death."

"Oh isn't he sexy when he thinks he's in charge?" Death commented to Natasha as it finally dropped it's hand from her face. Natasha let out a breath that she didn't know she had been holding as the being turning away from her. It was one thing for part of her soul to be on display for Harry, but having her entire ledger read in a heartbeat by Death was nauseating.

She wanted to curl into a little ball and cry, but the absolute _fury_ that she saw in Harry's eyes calmed her for the briefest of seconds that she needed to recompose herself as Death sauntered over to her Master.

"Have I made you mad, _Master_?" Death asked, a heavy tone of insinuation in it's voice. Once again, Natasha felt territorial.

"Why is Tom Riddle alive?" Harry asked, power and anger radiating from his voice.

"Oh little Thomas?" was the laughing answer, "I was growing weak Master, and with a magical person alive again I needed to make up for the lack of souls you had been providing me. Who better than the one most scared of me?"

"You killed the entire Wizarding World," Harry intoned back, fury dripping from his words, "I would think that the ledger was clear."

"_But you didn't provide them you worthless sack of flesh_," Death spit back at Harry, her voice overpowering the chamber they were in, "_The ledger still drips with red, and only when you clear it will I free you of your responsibility._"

"Then you should tell me how to clear it," Harry growled, causing a shiver to go down her spine.

She was compromised. There was no denying it.

"Where would the fun be in that, _Master_?" Death cackled, walking back towards the Veil, "You two are cute together. The one that owns my ledger, and the one whose existence drips in red. Have fun with Thomas, I feel him growing stronger by the death…"

Death faded into the Veil, with a final look over her shoulder with a wink at Harry and a glare at Natasha.

"What did she mean by 'growing strong by the death?'" Natasha asked Harry after a moment. She heard him sigh as he brought his hand to his head.

"I don't know," Harry answered after a moment, "But Death is only in a good mood when it is having souls delivered."

He paused , a worried look suddenly coming over his face, "Your friends went to go take Him on, didn't they?"

Natasha nodded as she connected the dots in her head, "Death plans for them to die."

"Not if I have anything do to about it," Harry growled as he grabbed Natasha's hand and they went running back out of the corridors.

X X X

Nick Fury was anxious. While he normally wasn't a calm man, his subordinates displayed outright terror at every brief they gave him now.

A bright light had emanated before all communications with the Avengers were lost. A bright golden bubble had encircled the area that they were in, and they couldn't get any reconnaissance in or out. They were effectively in a communications black out.

He didn't like this. Nick Fury was a man that liked being in control, and right now he was so far out of control that his hands were shaking. Oh he had other options to consider, but they all sucked. The only other option he had that lent him any amount of control was his B-Team, his Not-Quite-Ready-To-Be-Avengers. They were unproven in every sense of the word, and he knew that sending them in now would almost certainly be with knowing he was probably sending them to their deaths.

There were the Weapon-X cast offs, and the scattered remains of the X-Men, but with the collateral damage rising he didn't want their breed of insanity injected into the mix. As it was the last time he had conscripted Wade Wilson into SHIELD Agent Hill had threatened to not only quit but turn Government Witness.

Barring Agent Romanoff and Potter getting a hold of him (another option that held distaste in his mouth as he trusted Potter at the moment as far as he could throw him), his final option was sending SHIELD operatives in with untested, experimental weapons. Fury knew in his head that the death count from that would be in the millions.

He stopped in his tracks as his brain recycled back to Weapon-X. There was one person that he could call, one that owed him a favor whether he knew it or not. It was risky, but it was the only option he had that he felt comfortable with.

He turned to Agent Hill, and leaned down to speak into her ear so that only she could hear him.

"Activate Project Wolverine," Fury stated, "And prepare my jet. It's time I got hands on."

As Fury strode away he didn't see Agent Hill's wide eyed acknowledgment before she snapped to his instructions.

X X X

Harry and Natasha stood about fifty feet away from where the bright, golden dome has touching the ground.

"Of course," Harry groused, rubbing his jaw from where Natasha had slugged him after apparating the pair of them without warning again, "He wants me to announce my entrance."

"Do you think you would be able to get me in without him knowing?" Natasha asked, a plan starting to form in her head. Harry considered her for a second.

"By all rights, yes," Harry said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a shimmering cloak, "If Death gave Tommy any super powers above his normal ones, no, but..."

He contemplated the cloak again for a second before continuing, "I am the Master of Death, and any of my tools should be beyond what Death itself can override. Theoretically. It's worth a shot."

"The only consequence is death," Natasha said with a small smile, which faded when she saw Harry didn't meet the joke with a smile or laugh of his own. Instead, his mouth drew taught.

"There are worse things than death, Natasha," he said quietly. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, shook his head, and reset his face.

"One last time, you can turn back now," Harry said, offering the cloak to Natasha. She took it without hesitation, giving him a smirk.

"What does this do?" she asked, moving it in her hands.

"It's an invisibility cloak," Harry said, "Will literally hide you from Death, with the big D. With it on Tommy shouldn't be able to detect you. Even though he's been revived, I'm pretty sure that if you stab him in the throat he'll be out of commission long enough to drop his guard."

"So, you blast in and distract him," Natasha picked up, "While I sneak in and neutralize him."

"Right, once you do that, we grab your friends and get on out," Harry finished, "I'd prefer to finish him off then and there, but I'm more worried about getting your friends to safety first."

"How do you know they're still alive?" Natasha questioned quietly.

"You know why," Harry responded, tapping his index finger on her temple, "He wants to make a show of it to me."

"Harry," Natasha started, at an almost whisper, "Before we do this, I need you to answer me this question honestly."

Harry raised his eyebrow, waiting for her to go on.

"What did the full prophecy say," Natasha leveled, "I've been in your head, I know when you're lying. I know you know it. I want to know what it says."

"Why," Harry replied shortly.

"Because I'm curious," she said shortly, "And if I'm about to risk my life for this, I want to know what I have to do to clear your ledger."

"Why," he said again, looking her in the eyes.

"Remind me after this is over the answer that properly," she said, echoing his words from earlier.

Harry closed his eyes as if summoning up a distant memory, and then started reciting the words, "Death will come at the beckoning of its master, till the ledger is clear. A_nd he that has mocked Death shall be its master, till the ledger is clear. _Death will release its master, when the ledger is clear. But only by a sacrifice, will the ledger ever be clear."

The pair were silent for a minute before Natasha broke the silence.

"That couldn't be more vague," she said with a smile. This time, Harry smiled back.

"It usually is," Harry replied, "If you can figure out how to clear the ledger, let me know. Now, ready?"

"Yes," Natasha replied, giving Harry a smile. He turned around and Natasha could feel him gathering his power around him.

She slipped the cloak around herself, wondering if Harry could still pull from her thoughts.

X X X

Fury walked up to the shack in the woods that his helicopter had dropped him off at. The man inside would be about as happy to see him as Dr. Banner had been to see Agent Romanoff. One didn't go to a shack in the middle of the woods in the middle of Canada if they wanted the Director of SHIELD knocking at their door.

Fury looked at the security detachment that had gone with them, dismissing them back into the helicopter with a look. If he didn't approach this alone, it would blow up in his face.

He took one step onto the porch before he heard the cocking of a gun.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't have your good eye join the other one," a voice that sounded like it had been soaked in whiskey, dragged through gravel, and smoked till it bled sounded.

"Because guns aren't your style Logan," Fury said, not showing any emotion, "And you owe me a favor."

"I don't owe you anything," the voice, Logan, answered, "You can get Wilson."

"Wilson doesn't have the delicate touch that I need right now," Fury answered, pulling a cigar out from his coat, "You do. So drop the gun and come with me."

"You're a real ass Fury," Logan said as he walked into the light, dropping the shotgun, "Don't think I've ever heard someone describe my touch as delicate before though."

Fury snorted.

"What's the mission?"

X X X

Voldemort looked at the group of characters that were before him. They were all wheezing in pain, the effects of spell damage readily apparent.

"A man that is nothing but an experiment," he started, his own voice sounded foreign to his own ears after being pulled from his non-existence as he addressed the group, "A man that is an experiment gone wrong, a man with exceptional vision, and a man that can create trinkets."

He paused before shooting a spell at the green abomination that the others though of as 'the Hulk.' He had learned quickly that the creature healed extraordinarily quick.

"In your world you're the best there is to offer," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "But compared to the power of Lord Voldemort you're nothing but children."

He swept his hand out as he walked towards the one that was referred to as 'Captain.'

"I'm so very weak right now, and yet I captured you so easily," he breathed, "Your powers nothing to the fraction of mine. But fear not, your deaths shall allow Lord Voldemort to once again rise to take back what was wrongfully taken from me."

Suddenly, a giant white column shot up in the distance, showing that his wards had been broken.

"Ah, and here comes your executioner!" he laughed, "My good friend Harry Potter."

He turned to the group of muggles that had stood toe to toe with his Inferi.

"You might all plead for death now, but I've experienced something much worse, and I will be bringing it to your world.

**End Chapter Six**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Thus marks the beginning of the next major arc of this story, that dealing with Harry and Voldemort. Of course, Natasha is right there in the background as well...

Thank you to everyone that continues to read and review! It is great hearing your thoughts and I look forward to it!

Thank you once again!


	7. Chapter Seven

**__****_The Spy and the Painting  
_**___by J. Merrick_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Harry felt a wonderful sense of d_éjà vu_ as he walked up towards Voldemort. He almost wished for echos of all his loved ones to be accompanying him as he made this walk as if to say, "_Look at your little boy now. Master of Death. Got trapped in a painting for cl__ose to a decade. Pretty sure I have a crush on a Russian spy. But mostly Master of Death who is quite pissed off at Tommy Riddle and Death_."

As he walked up he saw what was left of the Avengers, huddled on the ground, withering in pain as Voldemort kept up his monologue. That just wouldn't do.

"Hullo, Tommy," Harry said, "Long time, no see."

"Ah, Harry Potter," Voldemort spat, turning to face Harry, "The Boy Who Lived to become the _Master of Death_."

"You sound jealous," Harry responded, a small smile in his voice, "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

"You wouldn't enjoy the power," Voldemort said back, walking towards him, "You were always scared of it."

"Well, you say that," Harry said, as if contemplating a hard question, "But it's more the fact that I just hate the bitch that gave me these powers."

Harry clapped his hands and a massive bolt of pure magical power shot off at Voldemort, who dodged it without a moment to spare before returning with a spell of his own.

The battle was once again on.

X X X

Natasha crept through, far enough behind Harry to observe but not close enough to be caught in any crossfire. She had the cloak around her, and was surprised when she had looked at her own reflection to see that there wasn't any.

Magic provided wonderful tools.

She watched as Harry approached Voldemort and prepared to work her way around, to hide from the fighting so she could pick her attack when she saw _her._

Well, not so much a her, but Death.

"Where do you think you're going, my little widow?" Death whispered, it's voice carrying into Natasha's mind like a knife as she stopped in her tracks. Harry had said that not even Death could see through this robe, and yet she felt as if Death was looking right at her.

Natasha took a few hesitant steps forward and noticed that Death's eyes did not follow, instead it seemed to be reaching out with it's mind, trying to sense where Natasha was.

She still had a small advantage then.

"I know you're hiding, _Natasha_," Death whispered, spitting out her name as if it was vile, "I also know that you can't do anything without letting me know exactly where you are."

Death giggled, flinging the long tresses of it's visage over it's shoulders.

"Take the robe of dear widow," it continued, "Let me know where you are _so I can rip your soul from your body._"

Natasha stood still, making sure that her entire body was covered by the cloak. She saw Death walking around the rubble, reaching out with it's mind to try to sense where she was.

"I got to thinking, the universe has it's sense of humor," Death spoke, her voice shuddering down into Natasha's bones, "There had to be a reason that _you_ were the one that released my Harry from his prison. It was...to convenient."

Natasha saw Harry and Voldemort plunge into a fight, and she could feel Harry wondering where she was. She had to help Harry, but to move would mean giving herself away to Death who was still talking about her thoughts.

"So I looked at _my_ ledger," Death ground out, "Turns out, little miss Natasha Romanoff was more than just a silly little girl trying to distract my Harry. No, this worthless girl held the key to _releasing_ him."

She felt her blood run cold as Death continued speaking.

"I am _Death_," the visage roared, her voice muddled in the din of the fight raging between Harry and Voldemort, "I can bring back evils beyond comprehension on a whim! Then I find out that in doing so I made it possible to release my master."

Death stopped and laughed, a sound that filled Natasha with an amount of dread.

"All it requires is for the Widow to sacrifice herself for him," Death giggled, the sound horrifying, "So I give you this choice Natasha. Sacrifice yourself, and lose the years that you two are going to have together. Oh, I didn't mention that? Give up your life, your happiness, his happiness, and _clear the ledger_."

Death stopped, looking at Harry and Voldemort fighting.

"I was able to trick Destiny into letting me know that," it continued, "Amazing what you can do when your _master_ is unable to exert any control over you. Harry and Natasha. A life of happiness. A life of joy. No more debts. All of their wrongs righted! I couldn't have that, so I decided to intervene."

It chuckled as Natasha felt her blood running cold, "Now you have a choice. If Voldemort beats Harry, he'll be my vessel to rule over the world as I should have been before Harry had to intervene. If Harry wins, your ledgers will be clear...but you'll be dead."

A pause as it considered its nails.

"You'll know when you have the choice to make little girl," it continued, "But just think, with everything you know about him...do you want to be just another person that kills his soul just a little bit more?"

Death vanished, leaving Natasha in its wake. She looked towards the last place she had seen Harry and noticed that he had just sent Voldemort crashing back onto the platform where the rest of the Avengers were tied up. She pushed the thoughts of what Death had said out of her mind.

She had a job to do.

X X X

Nick Fury swore as he brought his hand back from the golden dome that was between himself, the Wolverine, and his best agents. Testing out the dome's response he had tried to put his hand on it but in the process was burned quite rapidly.

"You should watch out for that, bub," the Wolverine – also known as Logan - stated with a small grin, before reaching a hand forward himself and noticing that while it still burned him it didn't affect his healing ability, "Well, would you look at that."

"Think you could make it through there?" Fury asked, tossing a rock at the dome and noticing that it bounced off. _Interesting..._

"More or less intact," Logan replied, following Fury's previous line of think by taking his shirt off and attempting to pass it through the dome without any success, "Can't say much about if I'll be naked or not though."

"I'll take whatever Agent I can get that can give me eyes on that can also extract themselves if need be," Fury stated, looking at Logan who was very casually stretching out his bulging muscles that strapped his compact frame.

"Fury just so you know," Logan replied, tossing his shirt to the side, "When this is all over we're done. I don't owe you nothing no more, and you and SHIELD leave me the hell alone. Understand?"

"Completely," Fury assented without hesitation. He knew that Logan would do something soon enough that would cause him to owe another round of favors to himself personally. It was the nature of their relationship.

"Good, now you want me to let this Potter character take out Voldemort first, or do you just want me to take out targets of opportunity," Logan questioned, lighting a cigar that he had just pulled out of his pocket.

"Neutralize the Voldemort character first," Fury replied, wondering if Logan intended on bringing his cigar through the dome, "If Potter doesn't agree to come along willingly afterward, get him too. I want him alive Logan."

"Gotcha," Logan replied, and walked through the dome with a mild grunt of discomfort as all his clothing was left behind. He then noticed that he still had his cigar, "Well, imagine that. Dome has a sense of humor."

Fury watched the wild card that he had just introduce walk away. First and foremost he needed the Voldemort threat neutralized. Second, he needed Potter brought in so they could at least talk.

If that didn't happen, then he would have to take him out.

X X X

Harry swiped his hand out and watched as his brute force magical attack seemingly ignored Voldemort's shields and sent him flying through the air. He felt a vague sense of satisfaction as he heard the sound of his body smacking against the ground in front of the Avengers.

Then Voldemort just stood right back up.

"Is that all that you have Potter?" Voldemort asked, standing back up as if he was in the prime of his life.

"So I take it that Death decided to give you a little bit of assistance," Harry stated, lazily batting away a red spell that Voldemort had silently thrown at him, "I don't quite think that's fair."

"The fact that you were able to become the Mater of Death through strict happenstance isn't fair," Voldemort shot back, lowering his wand to Harry's confusion, "Which is something even Death Herself agreed with."

Before Harry could react Voldemort threw his hands up in the air, and brought them down with a noise that Harry was sure could be heard across multiple dimensions. Almost immediately the sky around them plunged into darkness and Harry could see a pit opening up below them that was quickly being filled with a swirling, dark purple smoke.

He quickly shot his hand out to move the Avengers away from the scene but was frozen in place just as suddenly.

"I'm sorry Harry dear," came the unearthly, and unwelcome voice of Death, "But I'm afraid that it's just not in the cards for you to win today."

"Death," Harry ground out, his body unable to move, "I command you to release me."

"No," came Death's voice with a small laugh, "In fact, I think you'll find that I am the one calling the shots right now."

"I am your Master-"

"**I AM DEATH YOU SNIVVELING MORTAL**," Death roared at Harry, the sound of it's voice reverberating in Harry's eardrums, "You rejected the mantle! I found a way around it! Thomas here is more than willing to pick up the role that you rejected! All you have to do is be trapped in _my_ realm, away from this mortal world. Then I get a new champion. Then I get rid of _you_."

Harry's eyes searched around, looking for Natasha. _Where was she? What was taking her so long?_

X X X

Logan was just putting some pants on that he had taken off of a dead body when he heard Death's roar.

"There's no way that's good," he mumbled to himself around his cigar, zippering his pants up before taking off at a sprint towards where he heard the voice coming from. It was a pretty easy guess, as the sky was considerably darker in one specific area than the rest.

He felt a chill starting to run it's way up his spine, as if a warning. Something wasn't right about this entire situation. There was just too much that Fury wasn't telling and leaving open for discretion.

Then there was the fact that some creature's voice had managed to shake the adamantium on his bones.

No, something really wasn't right about this.

X X X

Harry tried to bring up every reserve of power that he had to break out of the binding that Death had apparently put on him. It was of no use, he couldn't move a single muscle in his body except the ones necessary to move his mouth and his eyes.

"What do you want Death?" Harry asked, with a sigh. He was secretly terrified, but he knew he had to keep bluffing his way through this until Natasha came through. She had to.

"The same thing I've ever wanted Harry dear," Death responded, with an equal sigh as it flipped its hair over it's shoulder while walking towards him, "For you to take up my mantle and bring me my souls."

"Not going to happen when you have me tied up like this," Harry commented, causing Death to laugh slightly.

"Oh I could do so many things with you tied up my love," Death commented softly, running an icy finger down Harry's face before rapidly turning around, "But you never want me to. That's made me mad dear, so I went out and found myself a new boy!"

Harry watched as Death sauntered over towards Voldemort, who was seemingly straining to keep the portal open.

"He's a bit on the weak side, I admit it," Death continued, "But as soon as you're out of the way, he'll become stronger."

It stretched lazily, as if admiring its plan.

"So one last time Harry," Death stated, looking Harry directly in the eyes, "What's your choice? Me, or your selfishness?"

"You know the answer," Harry spat out, without hesitation, "It will always be no."

"Then I will see you on the Other Side," Death said, starting to walk over to Harry.

"I don't think so bitch," came the sudden voice of Natasha. All eyes suddenly turned towards where Voldemort was standing, where Natasha had suddenly appeared.

In the brief moments before she exploded into action, Harry saw a look in her eyes that showed the decision she was about to make was one that she was firmly decided upon. It also was almost as if she was saying _Sorry_ at the same time.

Right after that brief moment Natasha tackled Voldemort from behind, and they both fell into the portal as Death screamed at them. After the briefest of seconds the portal closed, leaving only Harry and Death standing there.

**End Chapter Seven**

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Just want to start this off by saying that I apologize for the long wait between chapters. I'll do my best to not take so long in writing the next chapter!

I want to thank you for all the reviews, I greatly appreciate it. I will see you next time!


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